Monday, 14 May 2012


Swirling mists of village hues rise & dance
To kiss mountain blues,
Green mangled arms of weeping pines reach to embrace the sun,
Rushing river caressing tearful willows,
The eagle laughs at their misery, & has his fun.
Sweeping painted skies of grey,
The swallows laugh with joy,
The mules of the valley bay,
The old man becomes a boy,
In mind, in soul, in the ultimate whole.
Black stockinged leg,
Crumpled old lady of the hills,
Sips mulled wine from ancient keg,
Celebrating life,
Wet, weeping, joyous life.
Wild wind screaming at dumb sodden sand,
“Lift my friend, fly with me, lash the slimy rock”,
“No, stay by my side”, cries the emerald tide,
“I would surely die without your silent presence”.
It is cold, as cold as death on an autumn night,
How I shiver, how I shake,
Bloodless as a dying snake,
The final fruit drops from its drying branch, oozing,
Its soured juice, moist, sweet liquor upon my blistered lip.
Now I am hot, my brain cries, the heat, it crucifies,
I see deserts, feel fires youth´s passion, heat long gone,
The body I touched of velvet Junes, appears within my sight,
Soft & flowing, once upon many moons,
And now I have lost my fight.
I see colours, colours of rainbows, & more,
Blood red, cut & raw, blues, lagoons so cool,
Earthy browns, greys of clay, shadows, purple, mauve,
Shady greens by the grove, & now black, finality? Or night?
Ebony dressed in sparkling stars, bedecked in diamonds, as is mars.
The smile of a babe, wrinkles of old, a nun at prayer,
Stones cold & hard, fox within her lair,
I see it all, mermaids flaxen hair,
Neptune on his throne, David with his stone,
Even the final spiral stair.
The seagull´s cry, the voice of Thor,
Howl of wounded beast,
Peasant´s cry of hunger, king´s laughter at his feast,
I hear it all, I hear them call, “he´s mad, lost, look within his eye”.
“Mad my friends? No, the world is mad, not this old man, not I”.

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